Foggy Mirror
by love-fool
Summary: We all know Andie as the girl who was Lizzie's clone, but there is so much more to her that we don't know.
1. The girl with no identity

[Disclaimer: I do not own Lizzie McGuire, I never have and I never will unless I win the lottery.]  
  
[A/N: Okay.even though I shouldn't be, I'm starting another story but hey! Only a little more than a month until summer vacation! And please people, read this with an open mind because it's kind of peculiar.]  
  
[Warnings: Rated PG-13 for mild implied slash, language, drug and alcohol references and angst levels.]  
  
Have you ever wanted to be someone so badly?  
  
I have, I wanted to be Lizzie McGuire. Correction, I still want to be Lizzie McGuire. I love everything about her, the way she trips over random things in the hallway, the way her parents love with such compassion and her friends adore her. She may not be the best person in the world, but she's up there. I want to be admired like Lizzie is, not feared like Kate. Everyone fears Kate and they're kept in line like animals off to the slaughter house waiting for the painful death that is approaching them. Kate gives people fear, while Lizzie beams like light from a beautiful chandelier, from her hazel eyes beams happiness and perfection.  
  
Yet some how she reminds that she's everything I'm not which is blonde (I'm a brunette naturally), perfect, loved, outgoing, and confident.  
  
She took me under her wing; she was the one person who didn't care that I was just some insignificant seventh grader on the bottom of the food chain. Unlike everyone else she actually acknowledged me.  
  
I was never liked that much throughout my academic career.  
  
In elementary school I was a tattler, I often told on the other kids that were being insubordinate and bullying the smaller children. The teachers of course rewarded me with gratitude that someone had brought this to their attention and told my classmates to be more like me.  
  
I remember this one time where I told on this girl named Olivia who had put gum in my friend Sophie's hair. Sophie didn't know who had put the gum in her hair because she hadn't realized it until recess and Olivia had put the gum in her hair during circle time. I had overheard Olivia say to a girl named Becky that she was going to put gum in Sophie's hair because everyone liked Sophie Craft because she had nice hair and if she had to get her hair cut, no one would like her anymore.  
  
I remember running up to Mrs. Young's desk after to recess and tattling on Olivia.  
  
"Mrs. Young! Mrs. Young," I remember squealing.  
  
Mrs. Young was one of those twenty something teachers who didn't know jack shit about teaching and was always trying to think of new inventive methods on how to get involved with the children and making them believe that the teacher is their "friend".  
  
"What is it Andrea," Mrs. Young asked as she tore herself away from her Glamour magazine.  
  
"It's Andie," I sighed. "Olivia Daniels put gum in Sophie Craft's hair during circle time! I saw!"  
  
Mrs. Young marched over to Olivia and grabbed her by the arm and led her out of the dimly lit classroom and that's the last time I saw Olivia that day, she came back the next day and was absolutely furious with me. When I was on the monkey bars during recess, she had her friend Becky push me off. I chipped a tooth but thankfully it was a baby tooth. Things started to escalate from there and it was only second grade. I was often stuffed into garbage cans during lunch time, pushed off of the playground equipment, verbally taunted, picked last for gym class, and many other forms of elementary school torture.  
  
Then came seventh grade, I wanted seventh grade to be absolutely spectacular. I wanted to be accepted and wanted. Unfortunately though my year started off very roughly, I was snubbed by the popular eight grade queens who ruled over the population of the school with an iron, diamond studded, and perfectly manicured fist. The ringleader of them was Kate Sanders, an arrogant blonde who walked along on her long legs flipping her long, blonde curly hair that was attached to her head that was decorated with make-up products that were meant to a freak show. Her minions had the same attitude but each had their own semi-uniqueness to them even though they were thrown out of the spotlight they craved so much by Kate who was the leader of the pack who howled orders at her programmed robots who did as she pleased.  
  
Of course though everything started to turn around when I met Lizzie. Unlike everyone else, she helped me. Her friend Miranda wanted to be a "mentor" to one of my friends. Friends? Sophie abandoned me so she wouldn't get picked on as well and moved to Toronto with her mom after her parents divorced because she didn't want to get stuck with her dad and his clueless wife named Tawny who didn't know her ass from the hole in the wall.  
  
Lizzie was epitome of perfection and cheerfulness. As much as she thought that everyone loved Kate, she was the most prized and beautiful flower in the garden that gardener was attentive to. I was completely jealous of her; if she wasn't such a doormat she could have had the whole school at her control.  
  
Little by little I became her.  
  
I dyed my hair blonde exactly like hers; I had gone over her house one time and made a mental note about every article of clothing she owned when I asked her for fashion tips. Soon enough, everyone thought I was Lizzie. I was Lizzie's "mini-me", I was Lizzie Jr. I had it absolutely made. They all treated me like I was Lizzie, if Lizzie had died, I could have replaced her, but that's really creepy even though she probably thought I was extremely creepy because I was like her clone.  
  
Then came the landslide.  
  
Lizzie started throwing out insults and ruthless commands but all her jumbled up words boiled down to was, "You are a crazy stalker, stop imitating me and being like me, you don't want to be like me."  
  
Me? Andrea "Andie" Dawn Robinson a crazy stalker? I didn't peak in her windows at night or memorize her entire schedule (maybe some of it.but I'm good at things like that). I ran home and I cried my eyes out, the one person who I admired basically disowned me and I was left to fend for myself, I no longer had ties to the elite eight graders, I was now the lowest of the low.  
  
I hated myself to greatest extent, I was no longer "Lizzie McGuire's clone", and I no longer had Lizzie McGuire to protect me and shelter to me. Now the kids could resume their hateful tactics of taunting and physically abusing me.  
  
An idea sparked in my head in between my pitiful sobs. I could become Kate; I could be everything Lizzie wanted to be (even though she was better off not being her) and then Lizzie would idolize me like she idolized Kate.  
  
A few days later I called up Kate with a sniffling voice; I told her the whole story but added my own little twist to it. I told her that I didn't know when Lizzie's birthday was and I wanted to give her a birthday/being a good mentor gift. I then told her that I had gone to Lizzie's house with the gift and Lizzie yelled at me and screamed at me telling her to give her back her life and to stop imitating her. I told her how much I looked up to her and still gave her the birthday gift even after the whole ordeal. I then added the thing that Kate need to her which basically was that I wouldn't be in this mess if I hadn't idolized Lizzie and it would have been better if I had idolized Kate from the start. Kate told me to come right over and she taught me how to walk the walk and talk the talk. She showed me how to do my make-up like her and how to do my hair like her, things were absolutely, positively perfect.  
  
Finally came the much awaited confrontation with Lizzie which I relished every second of everything was perfect until immediately after I was tossed away like yesterday's paper. Kate knew that all I wanted to do was show up Lizzie and that's all I was going to do. I was Kate for first period and that was it, I was supposed to eat lunch with her and minions but that didn't happen, so I say by myself and that's when the taunting began again.  
  
That day I also went home and cried, my mom and dad weren't home, they were in the Bahamas on their second honeymoon because their first honeymoon was interrupted by my brother's birth. After crying for a few hours, I went to the drug store and got some Revlon hair dye so I could dye my hair back and not let my parents know that I had dyed my hair while they gone. My brother probably didn't notice, all he did was sit in front of the fridge and sob away because his girlfriend Natalie had dumped him for the captain of the football team, Tyler Robertson who is fairly attractive but doesn't know jack shit about anything.  
  
As time progressed I became jealous of Lizzie and developed sort of a crush on her, she was perfect in every single way except of course she had the occasional inner ear problem but I'm sure that Cindy Crawford has probably has had her share of falls on the runway.  
  
I am now in ninth grade and I am still a loser, just more of one right now. Everyone makes fun of me and the seniors tower over me and whisper to each other about me or maybe I'm simply just imagining things yet again as far as I know I don't take any hallucinogens and I don't hear voices in my head.  
  
Lizzie McGuire doesn't make fun of me, instead she ignores me. She should be flattered that there is someone out there in the vast sea of nothingness that wants to be like her. So I simply don't know which is worse, being ignored or being ridiculed every single day of your extremely pathetic life. Yes, I have a pathetic life, all I do is imitate people, I become something I'm not because I'd rather be them than me.  
  
According to my mother, "During your high school career is your time to find yourself."  
  
Please mother, you've probably said that after you've downed a few shots while you are finding yourself the next morning with an extremely bad hangover. Yet that says a lot when you're thirty something mother is on a voyage to find herself when you and your brother are supposed to be the only rabid teenagers in the house with raging hormones and crying at really random things.  
  
Lizzie has the perfect everything, sometimes it makes me sick that she gets by so incredibly easy.  
  
Is it possible to have a crush on someone that makes you sick and that you're jealous of?  
  
So here I am living an empty life with no meaning and yet I have so many questions about it. I think that when you're born you should be fully equipped with a manual that lists all the questions you may ask about your life from "Who am I going to marry?" to "Why does my neighbor fear leprechauns?"  
  
I am completely and utterly confused.  
  
[A/N: For people who don't know who Andie is, let me explain. Andie is the seventh grader who Lizzie was a role model for and things went screwy. Anyway, this story is quite peculiar and that's good because being peculiar rocks. This was slightly inspired by "Less than Beautiful" by a small extent but still I felt as though I should mention because it rocks. So, go read it! Anyway, please review with your thoughts, thank you!] 


	2. A perfect utopia

I absolutely hate school, it's not because I'm stupid or anything, it's just that my daily of routine of being shoved in the hallway, snubbed by upperclassmen, and taunted gets kind of old after awhile.  
  
Here I am in art class. The room is filled with the smell of tempera paint, soapy water, and the unbearable stench of people who must have spilled the whole bottle of perfume on themselves. One of these people is the teacher, Mrs. Delevan. Mrs. Delevan is an angry woman who critiques our pathetic attempts at a piece of artwork to the fullest extent. She even made some girl cry when she said that her two year old son could do a better self portrait than her worthless piece of garbage.  
  
Mrs. Delevan stands at the front of the class waiting for the class to be quiet. Her square glasses are resting on the edge of her point nose while her auburn hair is up in a tight bun on the top of her head with a few strings of hair that she missed hangs and sticks to the side of her face.  
  
She huffs, "Okay class, we are still in our unit on the human body. Last week we finished with our oil pastel portraits and now we are starting another project that is somewhat similar to our last one. You are going to start another portrait, but this time you are going to use a picture to draw from. It can be a picture of you, a friend, or even Brad Pitt but as long as it's human it's fine with me. But we're starting that next week because I had to order a special kind of drawing pencil that's on backorder right now and I should have it by next Wednesday. So we are going to do free sketch from now until Wednesday."  
  
Suddenly the fire alarm goes off and Mrs. Delevan starts to look around nervously and commands for us to leave our stuff and follow her outside in a nice, orderly manner. We all run out of the door and go to the nearest fire escape.  
  
I see Lizzie alongside Miranda as they run together out of a science room and follow their bald teacher trying to catch up with their class, where ever it might be.  
  
No, I have that smile on my face right now whenever I see her, that goofy, stupid smile that haunts me. Along with the smile, I feel this electricity flow through my body. I absolutely hate this. I'm supposed to be boy crazy like Lizzie; I'm supposed to be the stereotypical teenage girl who likes cute guys and staring at them for hours in Teen or Seventeen Magazine. But no, I'm attracted to a girl. I guess maybe it kind of fits because I'm a peculiar moron to begin with so why not make me more of a freak?  
  
"In a neat, orderly line," Mrs. Delevan yells at us which tears me from my thoughts.  
  
Now I find myself staring at Lizzie's pink glossed lips which flecks of glitter that shine in the March sunlight. She's whispering something to Miranda and Miranda giggles. I wish that I could be close to Lizzie's glossed lips and see what kind of lip gloss she uses. Stop thinking these bad thoughts, Andie! You're a girl for god sake; you're not supposed to be attracted to other girls. You're supposed to be your parents' little girl and not their freak dyke of a child. "Keep up, Ms. Robinson," Mrs. Delevan snarls, "The fire drill is over!"  
  
I start to lag behind the class as we trudge into the building and before I know it, Lizzie has vanished into the distance with Miranda and their science class. Lizzie doesn't even acknowledge my presence.why do I even bother?  
  
~~~  
  
Home is better than school, it's as boring as hell but no one torments me. I wish Corey would be charitable and actually offer to drive me home once in awhile. If he was actually like that, then I wouldn't be subjected to have to sit with the barbarians on the school bus.  
  
"Andie," I hear a voice from the kitchen. "Is that you?"  
  
Of course it's Corey; he's probably raiding the wine cabinet for a party he's going to tonight. Corey is a very mercurial person. One minute he can be a crying mess and the next he can be "Boy from The Real Cancun". He's kind of hard to describe because of that, but he's an alright brother. I remember when we were younger; he used to protect me at the Hill Ridge playground from the other kids. Those were the days. Now he's just so unpredictable, maybe it's a teenage guy thing.  
  
"Yeah, Corey, it's me," I sigh.  
  
He walks out of the kitchen with a somewhat of a limp. His brown hair is spiked up and gelled up. He has my mother's eyes, a soft blue color that matches the color of his shirt. His khaki pants wrinkle over his dirty sneakers.  
  
"What happened, Corey," I ask as I point at him.  
  
"Gym class," He sighs as he looks at me. "I was looking for ice in the freezer. Do you know where mom keeps the ice trays?"  
  
I scoff, "You're the older one."  
  
He looks at me strangely and his voice shows confusion, "What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"Never mind, Corey," I sigh as I head towards the stairs.  
  
I trudge up the stairs to my room which is right at the end of the hallway next to the upstairs bathroom. My room is kind of feminine in a way. I have one of those four post beds with a peach lace canopy with a matching blanket and sheet set. My desk is very disorganized with various pencils, pens, and pieces of paper scattered across the white wooden desk. My most prized possession would have to be my white armoire. When I first watched Beauty and the Beast when I was about three, I loved the talking wardrobe. Ever since then I had always wanted something like that. After six years of bugging my parents until they broke and finally got me one. All of my clothes take up its drawers and hangers.  
  
I'm one of those people who buy a lot of clothes and just wear half of them. The whole idea is very absurd, because they just either get tired of some of the clothes or they don't like how they look on me. On the contrary, I love how the sheer peasant tops that collect dust in my closet look on me, they're just too revealing. I know I'm odd, but I don't like it when guys drool at you when you have a revealing shirt on. Frankly, it disgusts me.  
  
Yet again these thoughts come out of the mind of a mentally disturbed lesbian freak, so what exactly does that say?  
  
Am I supposed to be feeling these feelings when I see or think about Lizzie? I mean, maybe it's just a phase that I'm supposed to go through and then I'll start liking guys again. Yeah, that's it, it's just a phase. It's an ever so psychotic phase that I'll grow out of.  
  
But there's something about Lizzie. Maybe it's her ever so flawless skin and how her frames her face when it blows gently in the wind and it makes her look like a beautiful goddess emerging out of the ocean.  
  
Bad Andie! You're not supposed to think these thoughts!  
  
I mentally slap myself; I shouldn't be thinking these thoughts. I'm supposed to be dreaming about guys and not girls. I can't be attracted to someone that's the same sex as me, it's wrong. Yet again I'm just this naïve little girl who doesn't know anything about anything. I'm hoping that I just don't know what I want, and in the end I'll figure it out and be perfectly normal. These feelings aren't right, I'm not normal to begin with, so this will just make me more of a freak.  
  
I seriously wish there was someone I could talk to that could help me sort out my issues without being completely judgmental towards me, yet again everyone in this world is judgmental towards something.  
  
The world is completely screwed up, if only everyone could be more open- minded towards each other, then we would live in a utopia. A utopia would be absolutely wonderful. Everything would be perfect; yet again nothing really can be perfect. Oh well, so be it.  
  
The sun is setting right now and is absolutely beautiful as the sky looks like its on fire with bits of red, orange, and yellow mix together over the horizon and create a picture perfect sunset. I haven't seen a sunset so beautiful in so long. It's absolutely magnificent and has a romantic vibe to it. I wish Lizzie and I could watch the sunset together and just be with each other in a perfect utopia. Then I could see what flavor her glittery lip gloss is.  
  
If only fantasies could be turned into realities.  
  
[A/N: Please review with your thoughts, thank you.] 


	3. Better off alone

Finally, it's the weekend. After five days of school I can relax for two whole days. Thankfully I can do my homework tonight to get it over with so I can party all weekend. Of course I'm kidding about the whole party thing; I've only been invited to one party in my life. Yet again, I'm not sure if Sophie Craft's "I want to be a pretty princess" slumber party in first grade really counts.  
  
My brother attends every party he hears about, and everyone is just thrilled to have him come because he's an upperclassmen and everyone adores him. I don't know how in the world he got popular; he's kind of odd, like me. I guess being odd runs in the family.  
  
"Andrea," I hear my dad as I sit curled up in a ball watching television on the couch.  
  
It's amazing, there's only one person in my life that I'll be okay with if they call me Andrea. I usually want to yell and curse at them if they call me "Andrea" because it sounds so formal. I don't really think I'm a formal person and Andrea sounds so French and exquisite, which doesn't sound like me at all.  
  
I mute the television and look at him, "Yeah dad?"  
  
My dad is Greg Robinson, car dealer at Chrysler Automotives on route nine between the Country Diner and Drake Plaza. I'm not sure if my dad is proud of being one of those men who bug the hell out of you trying to sell you the most expensive car in the dealership. It's his job though, and it puts food on the table. I guess even though he probably despises his job with a passion, he feels it's necessary so he can bring home the bacon.  
  
I look like my dad more than anyone. Like him I have chocolate brown hair that's kind of thick, but straight. The only exception though is his hair line is receding and his hair is turning a nice steel gray color. We also have the same plain hazel eyes and I'm still baffled by how someone as plain looking as my dad married someone like my mother.  
  
"Pumpkin, do you have any idea where your brother might be," he asks me as his face has a suspicious look on it.  
  
I sigh, "He's probably out with his girlfriend Olivia and getting drunk. After they get drunk, he's going to get her pregnant and end up becoming a teenage dad."  
  
My father looks at me strangely, "You're joking? Right?"  
  
"For the most part, he's out with Olivia, but he's not going to be getting drunk. They're at the mall, they're seeing the new Drew Barrymore movie and then they're heading over to Harry's for Harry's party," I explain to my baffled father.  
  
Olivia Pewter, she's my brother's girlfriend. I particularly don't like her because she reminds me of Kate, just more arrogant. She's a senior like my brother and hates my guts for some peculiar reason. She gossips around my brother and my brother has this look on his face that screams "I want to tape your mouth shut". She doesn't really look that arrogant though. She doesn't even seem like the type of girl my brother would take home. My brother usually brings home cheerleaders and the wannabe cheerleaders, but Olivia is very different. She wears her hair in a layered bob and that skims her chin. Her hair is dark brown with blocks of toffee highlights that are more noticed than her deep blue eyes and her pointed nose. Her eyelids are often covered with a black eyeliner and smoky shadow, while her lips are painted with a plum color. Compared to her make-up, her wardrobe is very bright. She has this obsession with the color turquoise; about half of her shirts contain some turquoise in them. The one thing that I love about her wardrobe is her accessories. She has about five hundred jelly bracelets in almost every single color imaginable. All of her necklaces are handmade and she has at least twenty of those. Even though she's an arrogant bitch, I still respect Olivia for her creativity.  
  
My father puts his reading glasses on as he reads the comic section of the newspaper with a slight chuckle and I sit watching the closed-captioning go by on the bottom of the television during a rerun of MTV's Cribs.  
  
Then, the door swings open and then slams shut as my mother comes into the living room and kisses my father and me on the cheek.  
  
"Andie," my mother shrieks. "Didn't your father tell you that we're going out to dinner tonight?"  
  
My mother, Karen Julia Robinson, she's the receptionist at the dentist's office down on Lark Avenue. I'm sure that the dentist enjoys having an attractive receptionist that he can ogle at her between patients that he sees. My mother looks like a woman that came straight out of an ad for Gucci. Her wavy brown hair cascades over her shoulder and waves very tightly at the end. If you look into her eyes, it's like looking into a forest; her eyes are mostly green with a few specks of brown in them.  
  
My father looks confused and then realizes that he did forget to tell me, "Damn, excuse my language. Andrea, I'm sorry I forgot to tell you, but we are going out to dinner. So please, be ready in a half hour. We're going to Underwater."  
  
Great, we're going to a place that wreaks dead fish and cheap perfume from the rich yuppies that go there with their rich friends. No, Andie, stop being judgmental. Your New Year's resolution was not to be judgmental of other people.  
  
Great, now I'm going to have to dress up in the clothes that collect dust in the back of my closet. Fun, I'm going to probably end up wearing one of those somewhat provocative sheer shirts with a tank top underneath. My mother will insist on me wearing it because she thinks that a girl my age should flaunt what she has. I hate my mother for that. It's like how in health they teach you about protected sex, so then everyone goes out and has protected sex. If someone I knew had my mother, they would dress provocative because she subliminally encouraged it.  
  
"Mom," I start to whine. "Can't I just wear what I'm wearing right now?"  
  
She huffs in disgust, "No, please Andie; wear one of the shirts I got you for your birthday. It would make me happy, pumpkin."  
  
I speak up, "Why is it that Corey gets to go where ever he pleases, while I get stuck going with you guys."  
  
My mom gasps and yells, "Andrea Dawn Robinson! Watch your tone with me young lady! You know that he wasn't invited, we feel like you're drifting away from us honey. It's time we had bonded with you. You're so distant lately and we just hate it."  
  
Of course if it was my brother pleading with my mom, he would win. It was probably because my brother was favored by my mother. So that's another reason why I couldn't let any of my family know about my crush on Lizzie. My mother would disown me, I know it. My father would be like, "That's nice honey; let's see what your mother thinks." Yet again, do I really have a crush on her? No, probably not. I hope not at least. Oh god, I'm in way over my head.  
  
I walk upstairs to my room and open up the doors to my armoire and look at the shirts that are collecting dust in the back of it. Ten shirts in a variety of colors line the back of my armoire. Good god, does my mother want me to become a slut?  
  
"Honey," I turn around to see my mother standing there. "Let me help you."  
  
My mother saunters over to the armoire as she flips a ringlet of hair behind her slender shoulder. She reaches to the back and looks examines each shirt that's back there. She then pulls out a few shirts and sets them on my bed wear their bright colors stand out against the dull color of my comforter. Why does my mother insist on me being so formal? I mean, who cares if I don't look right? I'm just a freak to begin with, so it doesn't matter if I try hard to look good.  
  
"Here," she says as she throws a bright pink shell and a white skirt at me. "Try this on."  
  
I go into the bathroom and shed my black sweater and white button up shirt that is making me incredibly warm and making me itchy. It's kind of awkward looking at me in the mirror without a shirt on. I slide my jeans off and throw them to the side and step into the white skirt that my mom had handed me. I still don't know why my mom bought this for me, she knew that I wasn't going to wear it and didn't care.  
  
As I slide the light pink shell on and it covers my semi-nakedness, I look at myself in the mirror. It's weird seeing myself like this. For once, I look good and I feel good about myself. I hate it thought. I hate feeling good about myself, because then I'll get overly confident and tell Lizzie. Wait, how can I tell Lizzie if I say that I don't even have a crush on her? Do I or do I not?  
  
I creak open the bathroom door and walk over towards my mother, who has a beaming smile plastered on her face. She has a pair of pink sandals in her hands and hands them to me. She's so happy she looks like she's about to cry.  
  
"You look so beautiful," she sighs. "I wish your brother could see you right now, he'd bug you and tell you to dress like that because it makes me happy."  
  
~~~  
  
We get out the car and walk through the parking lot to the restaurant. My mother and father are hand in hand, like they're some happy college couple. I guess they want to stay forever young. I feel utterly awkward with my parents who were completely infatuated with one another.  
  
It's obvious that chivalry isn't dead as my father hold the door open for my mom and I. We walk in as my father lags slightly behind us.  
  
A bubbly brunette greets us with a cheerful smile stuck on her face. It's somewhat obvious that her cheerfulness is just part of the job. She really doesn't hope that we have a good meal; she probably hopes we die from food poisoning and the place gets closed down. Then she won't have to work at this godforsaken place anymore.  
  
"Here's your table and your menus," the brunette smiles as we sit down. "Enjoy your meal."  
  
The table is off in a secluded corner of the restaurant, but you can still here the idle chitchat of everyone else. My father eyes the menu as does my mother, while I'm busy twiddling my thumbs. I hate going out to eat, or going anywhere in public. If I could, I would get myself home schooled and never come out of my house. Yeah, then I could be like Boo Radley from "To Kill a Mockingbird". I could be a hermit who hides from the dangers of the world.  
  
"So Andie," my mother says with a sniff. "What's going on in your life?"  
  
Let's see, I may be in love with someone I'm not supposed to be in love with. I'm a social outcast and I think I might be failing Science class.  
  
"Nothing really," is the response I say no matter what. Of course my mother knows that I have no life, so she doesn't question it.  
  
Oh my god.  
  
Are my eyes absolutely fooling me? Is there a mirage in front of my eyes? Am I imagining things?  
  
If not, then Lizzie McGuire is two tables away from me. She's not with her parents, but with a date. Her date is in my art class, his name is Kevin O'Connell. His hair is styled in a brush cut with gel holding up various red chunks of hair. His face is sprinkled with pencil point sized freckles that highlight his pale skin. Kevin's a sophomore; he's very quiet and shy. Nice though, but very shy.  
  
I can feel my face getting flushed. Oh no, I can feel it getting redder and warmer. I can't look at her now without getting that feeling or having my face turn various shades of red.  
  
"Be right back," I say as I push my chair in.  
  
My father looks at me, "Where are you going?"  
  
"I have to use the bathroom," I sigh.  
  
I walk at a high speed towards the woman's bathroom. My heart is racing at a mile a minute. I can't bear to look at Lizzie without having my face become flushed. I don't like my face getting flushed. I don't like feeling that odd feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don't like it all, but I can't control it.  
  
I swing open the door and run into the closest stall. All I can do right now is sit and think. I need to calm myself down. I need to get it through my head. I don't like Lizzie. I don't like Lizzie. I don't like Lizzie. I can't like Lizzie. I can't like Lizzie.  
  
I wish it were as easy as that though. I wish that whatever I would say would come true. It's not that simple though.  
  
I hear a set of heels click against the linoleum floor and stop in front of the bathroom mirror. It's probably some pompous woman picking food out of her teeth. Then she'll probably spray perfume all over her body, which will leave a repulsive stench in the bathroom.  
  
Before I walk out of the stall, I flush the toilet. Then it'll appear that I haven't been pondering about life in the bathroom. I swing open the stall door, but I want to go right back in and hide. In front of my very eyes is Lizzie McGuire fixing her make-up. Oh no, I can feel that feeling in my stomach again.  
  
"Hello," she says. "Is there someone in here?"  
  
She knows. She knows that I'm here in the stall. She probably knows everything about me. She probably knows what I don't want her to know.  
  
I walk out of the stall and over to the sink. I turn on the faucet and wash my hands. After rinsing my hands, I splash cool water on my face. The water calms me, but I still have that feeling in the pit of my stomach.  
  
She doesn't notice me. She's too preoccupied with putting her lip gloss on her lips. Her lips now have a shiny essence to them that just make them noticeable.  
  
"Hey," she says. "Do I know you from somewhere? You look familiar."  
  
"Uh," I shrug. "I don't know." She laughs. She probably laughs at my stupidity or just laughs at me in general.  
  
"Don't mind me," she laughs. "I think that I know someone when I see them, but I really don't. I'm sorry if I bothered you."  
  
I look at her as I turn off the faucet, "Not at all. I tend to do that myself."  
  
She takes a little spin and looks around at everything in the bathroom. The three stalls that are bolted to the white walls. The lights that are very dim, yet still give light to the small bathroom.  
  
"I still feel like I know you though," she smiles. "So, um, what's your name?"  
  
Do I really tell Lizzie McGuire who I am? Why does she want to know who I am? Oh no, the feeling in the bottom of my stomach is becoming more powerful.  
  
"Andie," I sigh. "Andie Robinson."  
  
She looks at me as if I'm a ghost. Her brown eyes just stare at me for at least a minute. A flood of memories come back to me, and probably to her. She still looks at me and then finally opens her mouth in an attempt to say something.  
  
"Oh, wow," she sighs. "This is awkward. Well, you're you now. Uh, I better be going. My date might be worried. It was, um, nice seeing you again."  
  
With that she walks out of the bathroom, leaving me alone. Alone in my thoughts, alone in the bathroom, and alone for the rest of my life. Maybe some people are meant to be alone, that way they can't get hurt.  
  
[A/N: I'm sorry for no update in a while. I don't like to rush myself on this because I want it to come out well. Anyway, thank you for the good reviews so far. And to the people who addressed my grammar, I'm working on it. Don't worry; I know that grammar is not exactly the best, so I try to improve on it. Anyway, thank you and please rock on and continue reviewing. Thank you.] 


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